Of Little and Big Brothers
by ihadnowittyusername
Summary: Oneshot. Bobby's fed up with Jack and yet he's still abandoned his car to chase after him down a dark street at three in the morning. Warning: difficult topic.


**Of Little and Big Brothers.**

Jack seems peaceful in the passenger side of Bobby's old car. He keeps his face straight as he tries to keep his suddenly lead-heavy lids from drooping. "You alright kid," Bobby pats him on the thigh and Jack looks over at him briefly, not exactly meeting eyes with him. This is the first sign that maybe there's something wrong with Jack. Because, see, Bobby knows his brothers and if it's one thing Bobby knows above all...it's when something's wrong with Jack. There's the normal always-anxious-Jack and then there's the always-anxious-something's-wrong Jack.

Bobby knew his brothers. He didn't exactly _know_ them such as what they had to eat for breakfast or what their special was from McDonald's everytime they went. He just knew _stuff_. Weird shit that he tried to pass off as special. For example, Jerry made lists. Hobbies he's dabbled in. Girl's he's kissed. Girl's he's liked. If there was a list Jerry could come up with he would find it.

Angel on the other hand gets high. Everyone could guess this but to what extent was something Bobby kept under his belt firmly, labeled as something only an older brother would know. Preferably him. Angel would sometimes cut class and beg Bobby to tell Evelyn he had taken him out to run an errand with him. Anything to keep Evelyn's heart from shattering. He would ask Bobby to spot him money because he had screwed around and over thought his gains. Bobby had always known that this merely meant he had smoked more than he could sell. Bobby would later tell Evelyn in a round-about way. "Oh, don't worry ma I just had to help Angel out some," or "Don't worry ma, I handled it,". He could never really muster up the guts to just come out and say something bad about his brother to his mother. Not necessarily because he felt for Angel who screwed up time after time but instead because he felt for his mother who had to watch it. And then the day (night) came when he went down to get something to drink, stumbling on the open front door to find Angel out there crying. And he didn't make any jokes (correction: _many _jokes) and he didn't try and be funny or anything so they didn't have to face the real situation at hand. He just sat down next to him, asked if he could have a hit (the first time Bobby had smoked _anything_ for the last three months) and sat in silence while his little brother pulled himself together, ashamed for showing _anybody _his vulnerable side. Bobby never told anyone about it and Angel never spoke of it again.

Jack though? Bobby never really _knew_ anything about Jack because Jack didn't really know anything about himself. A prime example of this was Jack telling him that he hated him contradictory to him –ten minutes later– asking if they could talk. He knew things about Jack. For some reason, the kid trusted him. He did from day one. In that "I'm-not-going-to-trust-you-with-my-secrets-but-I'll-trust-you-with-my-life," type way. Nothing could prepare him, though, for Jack's biggest secret.

He pulled himself against the car door wishing to whatever god would take mercy on him that a cigarette would appear out of nowhere in between rubbing his already bruised lips and trying to hide them. "Thanks for picking me up,"

Jack knew he was a screw up. All of his friends–the few ones he had–had gone off to college or to better shit. And he, was stuck in dead-end Detroit (the rich get richer the poor stay poor) playing shitty gigs for people who talked through the whole performance. He knew that Evelyn woke up every morning and that at least once a day she wondered about how it would be if Jack weren't living there. No matter what he went through Jack could never really believe that someone would put up with him forever. Even the only mother he had ever known. Especially with Bobby there. Bobby to remind him that he had screwed up and that he could have done anything–can do anything– if he would have just put his mind to it.

They rode in silence for awhile. Bobby didn't want to talk. He didn't want to ask Jack what had happened to his ride. He didn't want to ask Jack why he had called him at three in the morning or even what he had done for the two hours that the gig had been over with. He didn't want to ask Jack how the gig had gone. He didn't want to ask Jack how his day, week, month had gone. He just wanted to go back to the house and get to sleep. All of this wasn't helped by the fact that he was completely fed up. Jack fucked up. Everyone did. But Jack _magnified_ fucking up. He wasn't the kind of kid that walked under ladders and made painters fall on their asses. No, Jack was the kind of kid that walked under ladders, made the painters fall on their asses and somehow found a banana peel to slip on so he could fall backwards on top of them and land squarely on top of them, crushing their lungs. That was Jack. Sometimes Bobby thought it was intentional. Other times not so much.

He wasn't crying. He was stone-faced, which, if you know Jack well enough you know is much more dangerous.

"Can you drop me off tomorrow. I have an interview,"

"Take the fucking bus,"

More silence...

"Why are you mad?" Jack mumbled, "I didn't do anything–"

"Oh Jack don't give me that pouty-faced, I'm-still-a-two-year-old bull shit. You're a grown fucking man. You want to be treated like one than act like one. You got ma at home worried to death about you and you want to get in my fucking car half-stoned with hickeys all over your neck? And you smell like you've been bathing in weed. Grow the fuck up Jack," Bobby didn't look at him anymore.

Jack thought that was weird.

He was always the one initiating the staring contest. _Look at me when I'm talking to you_.

"It's a club...we had a gig. There was smoking," Jack's voice had thinned out. He sounded like he was going to cry.

Bobby stopped at a red light regrettably. He just wanted out of the car. He ran his hand over his sweats and looked over at Jack. "Don't you start crying, you hear me? Eighteen years old and you wanna start crying.." he made a 'huh' noise and rolled his eyes.

"What did you want me to do?" his voice was still low. His eyes flickered for a moment before he got out of the car, stuck his hands down in his pocket and began walking.

"_Fuck_," Bobby was already after him, "Jack..." Bobby began before he seen the light changing. This didn't really bother him though. The person easing up behind him did. He retrieved the car and sat back out on his 'rescue Jack' mission. As fucking usual.

"Please leave me alone. I just want to go..."

"Go where?" Bobby pulled over so he could catch up to his little brother.

"Away. A-_fucking_-way. I just want to go somewhere,"

"Why?"

Jack paused slightly. "My dad...my step-dad used to say that I would grow up to be a whore,"

"So. You've been thinking about him again?" Bobby stepped closer until Jack stepped away.

"I met a girl,"

"You mean to tell me _that's_ what this is all about,"

"What if I'm gay...?" Jack didn't exactly know what he was saying. He just knew that there had been a guy and he had liked him. He had thought that he had liked him. He didn't object when he had asked him for the kiss. And not because he was scared. Just because he didn't _want_ to say no. It was consensual. What if it all had been–

"Where is this coming from?" Bobby leaned back against his car, half-afraid to ask.

"There was a guy..." his voice thinned once more, "at the club,"

Bobby was unsure if he wanted to know the rest. He already felt like throwing up...or at least finding the guy so he could smash his face into concrete.

Jack collapsed. He was crying more, "He asked me to go home with him,"

"Get in the car,"

"He was just so nice..."

"Jack please..."

"He was just so nice,"

"I know. Come on Jack,"

And when Jack hugged Bobby, latching onto him tightly as if letting go was his deepest fear, he let him. He didn't back up and he actually hugged back. He let Jack rest his hand on his shoulder and pull his hands around him tightly. He let Jack have him for awhile. He let him pretend that he had, had him back when he actually needed him. As if he could go back and re-do the past. As if.

**AN**: Wow! Seems like I've been writing this for a long time now, and you can probably tell with the length! Ultimately I'm happy about how this came out. Hope y you enjoyed also! Please review.


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